


Voluntary Manslaughter

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Gen, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, parole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:59:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester is out on parole, but he refuses to let his guilt rest just because he's on the outside. He's killed a man, and he is determined to punish himself in ways the criminal justice system can't. </p><p>His brother and his only friend insist on trying to make Sam see his worth, even as Sam tries to distance himself from anyone who cares about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parole

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt fill.

The nightmares were eating him alive. 

He pushed himself out of bed, and worked his way to the coffee machine. After he glared at it in moody silence for two minutes, it began its job. He liked to pretend it was just intimidated by his impatience, but he remembered having set the timer the night before. 

The shower was painful in its insistence that he wake up fully. His stomach was always the last part of him to wake up. He could remember his big brother rocking out to the classics while cooking bacon and shoveling a slice into his mouth for every two he put on the communal plate. 

Sam smiled to himself. He and John would literally slam into each other and door frames, growling and snapping at one another, then join forces to let Dean know exactly how obnoxious his morning persona was. 

“Never thanked him for cooking breakfast, did we?” Sam murmured as he dragged himself from the shower and into clothes. He ran a hand through his hair, then poured the coffee. Black. It was always black now. 

Burnt, cold black coffee was a staple in prison. 

At least here it was warm and fresh. 

Just as expected, his phone rang before he had finished drinking it. “Good morning, Ennis.”

“Hey, Winchester. Don't-”

“I haven't forgotten.”

“Good. And-”

“I'm bringing it with me.”

Ennis sighed. “Look, Winchester. Judge isn't going to like you living at a motel.”

He sipped at his coffee. “Tell him to throw me back in a cell.”

“Sam, stop. Okay? You're out. You're just scared, all right? Lots of guys get-”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Ennis, I'm not afraid of being out. I'm perfectly capable of making my way in the big scary world outside the cell block. But I asked for a parole hearing because my dad was dying, so I could see him again. And I missed him by two days. So do whatever you got to do. The judge doesn't like me living here, tell him I'm ready to come back and serve out my time if he doesn't mind the taxpayers paying for it.”

“I'm trying to help you out, man. I'm your parole officer. I'm trying to help keep you-”

“What? Keep me from rescinding? Trust me, Ennis. There's nothing in the world that I want less.”

There came that heavy sigh again. “Okay. Whatever. Be on time and have that employment paperwork with you. And do yourself a favor, okay? Call your brother. It's hard enough doing this with family, man. I've seen a lot of guys fail without it.”

Sam hung up and set the phone on the table to finish his coffee. He knew Ennis meant well. Just like his lawyer had meant well when he had insisted that Sam plead not guilty, then tried to convince him to plea bargain. 

The voices shouted in his head. “Sam, you've got to fight for yourself!”

“I'm done fighting for myself!” he had growled back. “That's what got me here! I killed a guy. That doesn't go away because I can convince a judge to give me less time.”

“Sam, why did you even hire me if you aren't going to listen to what I'm advising?”

“I didn't hire you. My brother and my dad did. I planned to represent myself.”

The lawyer had snorted. “Sam, you're a divorce lawyer. You don't belong in a criminal courtroom. If they hadn't hired me, you'd have pled guilty to murder two. At least I got you down to manslaughter.”

“That man is dead. My sentence doesn't change that. They can let me out in two weeks or two decades, but either way, he's still dead. His family is still missing a member.”

“What about your family, Sam?”

His own words haunted him after all this time. “I don't deserve family. And they deserve better than me.”

Sam stared at his coffee another moment, then drained the last of it and headed for the door. He had a job to do, and he was lucky to have it. Tyson Brady would never have the opportunity again. It was just another example of something Sam had taken when he had ended the life of another man. It was yet another thing Sam refused to forgive himself for. So he took the time, just as he did each morning before work at the motel, to hate himself for what everyone said he had been forced to do. 

Because Sam knew better. He hadn't been forced to kill Brady. He could have kept it from going that far. He had done it anyway. And the part of himself he hated the most was the part that was still glad he had.


	2. Loner

The news was on in the lobby when Sam wandered in to get his daily checklist and to clock in. He glanced up to find two journalists arguing about a news story. 

“I don't get what the big deal is. They can get married now.”

“They. Those people.”

“You know what I mean. Don't turn this into some politically correct-”

“You know why they call it politically correct, Zach? Because it's correct. And it's politic to not offend people. Why has that phrase become a bad thing?”

“Because it's being shoved down the throat of every moderate American-”

“You've been crying that same river since 1992. What you mean is that it's hard for you to learn to speak with sensitivity, so you're going to ridicule anyone who tries to be sensitive.”

“Sensitive! Naomi, if you're going to talk about which side is sensitive, let's move away from social stupidity and talk about economics. Which side is the most sensitive to the plight of the average American who pays too much in taxes? That's the real-”

The television snapped off. 

Sam turned to find the desk clerk sighing as he set down the remote. “I don't know what your politics are, Sam. But I'm tired of people being nasty to one another.”

He smiled at the man softly. “Yeah. What were they arguing about?”

Castiel Tulák rolled his blue eyes, and set about straightening some of the magazines on the counter. “There's some couple in D. C. who are in a dispute about common law marriage. Because they're both men.” The eyes flicked up at Sam, then back down. “The whole thing just bothers me.”

Sam nodded slowly, and shrugged. He had hoped to find out Castiel was more open minded than that. But they were in a conservative part of the country, so he wasn't surprised. Just disappointed. “I guess I feel like folks shouldn't be discriminated against because of their gender. No matter what right we’re talking about. Like you said, just stop treating one another so badly.” He reached across the high counter and took his clipboard off the wall. “You got anything that isn't on the list?”

Castiel was watching him now. Sam wished he wouldn't. 

“Cas? Any other jobs you need done?”

The man seemed to shake himself. “Uh...yeah. Window won't latch in one eleven.”

Sam scribbled it onto the list. “Is that it?” He kept his eyes low, to avoid Castiel's eyes. “Anything you guys need up here?”

“Not unless you can fix a stuck desk drawer.”

His eyebrows raised. “If I can't, they should fire me. How long has it been stuck?”

Castiel shrugged. “Long as I've worked here. I'm just curious what's in it.”

Sam chuckled a little. He went around the counter to stand beside Castiel. “Where?”

The clerk pointed at a drawer at the bottom of the large desk they used for payroll, beneath the time clock. 

He dug through his belt for his screwdriver, and set to work. Within four minutes, he was lying on the floor, twisted for a better view, and cursing. 

Castiel was snickering. “Think I didn't try all that? Stupid front desk guy can't use a screwdriver; I'll show him. Takes a big, strong handyman to pry open a drawer like this.”

“Shut up,” Sam huffed.

“Oh, Sam! I think I've got a stuck jar in the break room that you could open if it would make you feel better.”

His face was reddening, but he couldn't help a snort of laughter. 

“If I see a spider, I promise to call for you-”

The drawer popped out at last, and Sam turned a satisfied smirk up at Castiel. 

His reward was a shrug. “I could have done that.” But the blue eyes were sparkling with chagrin. 

Sam laughed and sat up on the floor. “I'm sure you could have. Call me for any spiders though. It'll make me feel useful.” He winked at the man and sauntered out of the lobby to get to work on his list. 

Somewhere along the line, probably by the end of year one, Sam had lost his confidence when it came to talking to people. He was a Stanford-educated lawyer. He shouldn't have to struggle to find his words, or worry about tripping over his own tongue. But every month he spent in prison saw him talking to people less and less. He stopped taking calls from Dean unless he was desperate for the contact. He didn't relate to most of the other guys there, though perhaps more than he might have liked to admit. But Sam's natural state was a little shy, and after four years of little social contact, he had reverted badly. So it was very rare for him to talk with anyone for any length of time. He was grateful that his job didn't require much chatting. 

Once in awhile, though, he found himself wishing that he had more reason to talk with Castiel. He lingered at the front desk awkwardly until he could think of a good reason to be there, or until Castiel asked him to do something. He always felt like an idiot. But Castiel had such an interesting personality, a magnetism that drew Sam in. Whenever he was finished with his job list, he found himself gravitating back toward the desk, when he could go back to his room and wait for someone to radio if they needed him. He just liked being around Castiel. 

For his part, the clerk didn't seem to mind. He went about his work, or when it was slow, he watched the lobby television. Sam had noticed that it never seemed to matter much what was on. Castiel watched it anyway. 

Today, after he had finished his rounds, he helped one of the housekeepers’ kids with his homework in the lobby. He liked doing that. He suspected the kid’s mother wouldn't ask for his help if she knew he had gone to a parole check-in over his lunch break. Just the thought made him cringe. 

Castiel went off duty at four most days, unless he was working a double shift. He had worked nights for almost a year before they moved him to the first shift. He joked that he was still learning how to sleep at the right times, and some days just wandered in early because he couldn't sleep. 

“Got plans for dinner?”

Sam wondered who Castiel was addressing. He didn't bother looking up. Castiel was always flirting with someone. Probably a housekeeper. He smiled at the kid beside him. “Nice work, Miguel. Don't let the symbols scare you. It might look like something you've never seen before, but it's still just math. You'll get it.”

Miguel thanked him and hopped off the couch, tossing his pre-Algebra book in his bag. When he had left, Sam finally gave in to curiosity and looked up at Castiel. 

The man was threading his arms through his coat and smirking at him. Sam realized slowly that they were alone in the lobby.

Castiel was looking at him expectantly. 

“What?” A self-conscious flush heated his face. 

“Do you have plans for dinner?” he asked again. 

Sam frowned. “Me?”

Castiel laughed. “You're the only one here, Sam.”

His blush was merciless. “Oh. No, I-I thought...No, I'm just going to go back to my room. Till tomorrow.”

“It sounds a little pitiful when you say it like that.”

Sam sighed, but he chose to stare down at his hands without answering. 

Castiel took a step toward him. “Look, Sam. You live here. You eat here. You work here. You leave on lunch sometimes, and I guess you must go out now and then, but I never see it. We've worked together going on three months now, and I never see you with anybody.”

“I'm just a bit of a loner, I guess.”

“And I'm not. So let me buy you some dinner. I found a mess of old lost and found items in that drawer. I'm compelled to share that story with somebody.” 

At last, Sam smiled back. “Just a quick bite.”

Castiel scowled at him. “Why? You turn into a pumpkin? Here. Go to your room and do whatever you need to do. Then meet me back here around five. That work?”

He nodded quietly. “Yeah. That's...Okay.”

With that, the clerk went back to the counter to await his replacement, with a look of deep satisfaction on his face. 

Sam hurried to his room and shut the door behind him. He leaned against it with a sigh. What was he thinking?


	3. Chances

He waited for Sam patiently. While he did so, Castiel looked over the employee records he now had access to, thanks to Sam. Edgar kept them in the bottom drawer because he knew no one else knew the trick to opening it. It turned out there was another trick: Ask Sam. 

Sam was the most useful thing within a city block, so far as Castiel could tell. There had never been a time Castiel had ever needed anything done when Sam wasn't willing and able. It was a refreshing thing, considering the help they usually had around this place. 

He scanned Sam's application. He had read it over lunch, but it was too interesting to not look over again. 

So Sam was a convicted felon. And a disbarred lawyer. And a Stanford graduate. All far more interesting than anyone else in the place. He had erased his search engine history on his computer after looking the man up. 

Sam was a murderer. 

Sweet, shy, helpful Sam Winchester had killed a guy.

Castiel was a big fan of second chances. When he had walked away from the family business, he had realized he had no employable skills and no resources. He had found himself at the motel for a weekend, and that was three years ago. 

So he had recognized that Sam was running the moment he met him. He had figured the story would come out eventually, like everyone else's always did. But Sam was more than just a loner. He was obsessively private. 

Then, that morning, Sam had finally let something slip out, by his expression more than anything else. Castiel was willing to put money down that Sam was gay. And a gorgeous, mysterious gay man in Castiel's midst was just too interesting. He wasn't worried about the prison background. There had never been a time when Castiel couldn't defend himself. And he suspected there was little chance he would need to. 

Second chances were made for people like them. Castiel was certain of it. He wanted to be a part of Sam's.


	4. Smitten

When Sam emerged, fresh from a shower, Castiel couldn't help the slow intake of breath and appreciative smile. The man was stunning. Castiel had never enjoyed long hair on a man, but Sam's was so soft and attractive that he was rethinking his whole type. For that matter, he might have deemed the man too tall for his taste, before he saw him. In theory, Sam was nothing like what he normally wanted. In practice, however, he was exactly what Castiel wanted.

Castiel himself had never been particularly shy. A definite misfit, but he truly enjoyed people. It was why he stuck with this job when it paid so little. He never got tired of watching humanity. This motel got its fair share of interesting characters, and Castiel was fascinated by every one of them.

In particular, this Sam creature had caught his eye the moment he walked in. Castiel had been the one to hand him a blank application, but Edgar had swooped in before he had gotten the chance to see it completed. Sam’s interview had been done behind a closed office door, and for once, Edgar had not had Castiel sit in to give his opinion. So the curious clerk had known there was something about Sam that no one was supposed to know.

Some people watched Dr. Sexy and telenovelas. Castiel couldn't say he didn't, but he certainly preferred real life dramas over scripted ones. And Sam Winchester was a lovely show to watch.

Sam shrugged at him. He wore a soft, brown sweater that made Castiel want to get his hands on him even more, and a pair of jeans over dark work boots. Castiel found it almost difficult to look at him directly.

“Hello, Sam.”

The man cleared his throat. “Hey, Castiel. What, um, where did you want to-If you still want to get something, I mean. Because I've got stuff in my room if you've changed your mind. We could do it another time. Or not.”

This had to have been the most adorable murderer Castiel had seen since _Chicago_ came to town. Castiel laughed. “Well, I'm still hungry.” Wasn't that an understatement? “What do you like?”

“Thai.” It came out so quickly that it was clear from Sam's face that he hadn't meant to say it at all. He smiled sheepishly. “It's just...they don't deliver.”

A pang of sympathy hit Castiel's heart. “And you only eat what you have delivered.”

Sam shrugged again. His face was flushed red. “My room has a, uh, limited amount of storage space for meals. Most of my paycheck goes to the room and my meals. I bought an e-reader a few weeks back and had to live on the peanut butter and bread I keep in the break room the rest of the month. One of the housekeepers brought me chicken salad. I was almost too embarrassed to eat it.”

An e-reader. Because Sam would want to read, and he didn't have room to store books. Castiel smiled. “Thai it is. And it's on me.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “No, no. I didn't tell you that so-”

“I know you didn't. It isn't about that. It's about how I've been trying to get into that dumb drawer for years and you got it open in five minutes.”

There it was. That lovely laugh. “Oh. In that case, sure. But-but if you want something else instead…”

“I love Thai,” he assured him.

Castiel had never eaten Thai food. He was entirely unprepared for the spice level. He made blowing motions to cool his tongue and went through his water and Sam’s before the waiter could bring him the coconut water to ease the burning.

Sam watched him with a sort of cringing amusement. “I'm sorry. It isn't like Chinese food. You ordered so confidently, I just figured you knew what you were doing.”

“Of course I didn't know what I was doing! Who sets their head on fire on purpose? I can only assume they renamed Siam because the entire country burst into flames, and they wanted to start fresh!”

His companion smiled sympathetically. He turned to the sighing waiter. “Let's get pad Thai for him. Lowest spice level, please.”

“Beef, chicken or tofu?”

“Chicken,” Castiel responded moodily. “Thank you.” He turned back to Sam and shrugged. “Okay. Now you've caught me. I've never had Thai food. Even us up by telling me something I don't know about you.”

Sam’s eyes lowered to his bowl of curry. “I don't...There isn't much interesting about me.”

“You from the area?”

He licked his lips carefully. “Kansas.”

“Big state,” Castiel pressed.

“I, uh, I'm from Lawrence. Small town near Lawrence.”

He nodded encouragement.

“And now I'm here. Your turn. Tell me your story.”

Castiel laughed and sipped at his coconut water. “I'm not sure you've earned the story yet,” he scolded.

“He's a writer with an inflated sense of importance and a delusional opinion of his own talent. That's his entire story.”

Sam was staring, but Castiel clenched his jaw and continued smiling at his companion. “Sam, if I'd known this was a restaurant where they let Lucifer in, I'd have taken you someplace nicer.”

The man snatched a chair from a nearby table and straddled it.

Castiel sighed and sent a grimace of apology to the couple at the table which had lost their chair.

Sam looked stunned. “Um, Cas?”

He gave his fakest smile. “What a delight this is. Sam, my decent and hardworking, charismatic coworker, allow me to introduce Lucas, my entirely inappropriate and painfully difficult older brother.”

Lucas winked at Sam. “That was my subtle hint that he actually likes you and doesn't want me to send you running.”

To Castiel's astonishment, Sam looked evenly into the older man’s eyes and smiled coldly. “I don't run.”

Lucas was right about one thing. Castiel liked him.


	5. Noise

Sam didn't like Lucas. There was a mean streak in him that Sam just had no patience for. In fact, he reminded him of a man by the name of Tyson Brady. As he sat back and watched the dynamic between the brothers, he felt a pang of regret for letting his own relationship with Dean lapse into silence. Seeing the way Castiel's older brother treated him, Sam was reminded just how lucky he was to have a brother who cared about him. 

“Sam, you military?”

He shook himself to the present. “No. My father was a Marine. I never served.”

“You got a look about you.”

He frowned. “I don't have a look.”

Lucas grinned like a cat. “No? No, not military. Something a little less honorable, I think,” he mused nastily. 

Castiel stared at his brother. “I will literally pay you money to not be here right now.”

The older man shrugged. “You don't have any. Well, Sam…”

“Winchester,” he said evenly, and took the offered hand in a tight grip. 

“Sam Winchester,” Lucas snarled through a smile. “It's been a pleasure. A true pleasure.” He turned to Castiel and stood. “I paid your check. If you're ready to start making real money again, let me know.”

Castiel watched his brother walk out of the restaurant doors, and sighed. “Free meal isn't worth spending any time with him. I feel like I need a shower to get off all the sleaze.”

Sam snorted. “Why do you let him do that?”

“What?” Castiel said wearily. His blue eyes looked back at Sam. “Be himself?”

“He was...I'm sorry, man. I get that he's your brother, but I wanted to kick his ass the second he smiled at you.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes as he continued picking at his pad Thai. “Me too. And that was over thirty years ago.”

“Why do you let him-”

“He's my brother, Sam,” Castiel snapped in exasperation. “Please. I don't want to talk about it.”

Of all people, Sam was not about to push the issue. But he wanted to. So he simply shook his head. “I hate bullies. That's all.”

Castiel smirked at him. “Okay, Captain America. I can take care of myself.”

It felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Sam stared down at his curry. 

That was what Jessica Moore had said. She could take care of herself. Maybe she could have. But she didn't. So Sam had done it for her. 

He closed his eyes against the memory. 

“Sam? You okay? Look, this has been the stupidest attempt at dinner ever. Tell you what. Let's finish here, and go back to the lobby. I'll make us some coffee and we can just sit in the breakfast room and talk. Nobody will bother us. Please?”

Sam was frowning. 

Castiel winced. “Look. You've been around for three months. You got no friends as far as I can tell. Well, neither do I. Everybody I meet is transitioning to someplace else. Except my family who won't leave me alone. I like you. I know you've got a mess of a background that you don't want to talk about. So do I. Everybody's got secrets, Sam, and everybody's done something they wish they hadn't. I’d just like to know you better. You don't have to tell me everything. Just tell me something.”

He wondered. 

The man was fascinating in a strange way. And Sam couldn't pretend he wasn't lonely. 

But lonely was the whole point. Lonely was the punishment. So he shook his head, and forced himself to say the one thing he thought would discourage the man from pursuing friendship any further. “Cas, look. I enjoy your company. But it's not a good idea. You want me to tell you something? Here it is. I'm gay. So it's probably best if we just-”

“And I'm bisexual. You being gorgeous and gay was a plus in my book.”

Sam stopped with his mouth ajar. 

Castiel gave him a cringing half-smile. “Did you not think I've been flirting with you all day long? I'm not good at flirting, admittedly. But I figured you would at least recognize the attempt.”

“You're gay?” he breathed out in disbelief. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Well...I'm bi.”

Sam continued to stare at him. “You were flirting with me?”

His companion set his fork down and placed his napkin on his plate. “We should probably just scrap this whole character arc.”

“No!” Sam wrestled with his wallet to leave a few bills for tip, then leapt to his feet to follow Castiel as he stormed moodily toward the door. He grabbed one of the man's hunched shoulders. “Wait!” 

They stepped out into the cool night air, and Castiel's tired gaze turned on him. “Wait for what? For you to say it's not me, it's you?” He laughed weakly. “Sam, we work together. Let's pretend I didn't just strike out, by pretending I didn't try. It'll be minutely less awkward when I see you in the morning.”

Sam knew he didn't deserve it. He knew that. But it was impossible to deceive himself that he didn't want it, even...even maybe need it. He had been so lonely for so long, and this man was such a beautiful distraction from his guilt…

“So how about I take you back home?” Castiel mumbled. 

“How about we go someplace else?”

Castiel met his eyes finally, and there was a sparkle of wary hope. 

Sam’s heart was racing. He could suddenly hear things he knew were not real, memories flooding his mind. Inmates roaring at one another from down the cell block. Cafeteria trays being slammed against trash cans. The guards calling out orders. Television blaring in the commons. Posturing and threatening in the yard. Attempts at hiding sobs.

“Are you all right? Sam?” Genuine concern was plain on Castiel's face, and he reached to touch Sam’s arm gently. 

With the sound of his name, Sam snapped back to the present. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to go someplace quiet.”

Castiel nodded. “We can do that. I'd like that too.” He began to smile again. “I'd like that a lot. Look. I live not far from here. It's...Well, I bet you'd like it. And we could...try again?”

Sam smiled back shakily. “Yeah. I want to try again.”

The bright pleasure in Castiel's expression melted that racing heart of Sam's. 

Whether this was something he deserved or not, Sam wanted this man, and had for months. Maybe it wouldn't be such a horrible thing for a monster to live as a human for a day or two. He could go back to his penance then. 

***

Lucas watched Castiel's car pull out. “Sam Winchester, huh?”

He looked down at his phone, and stared at the mug shot he had found. It was definitely that same guy. Convicted of voluntary manslaughter, meted out with bare hands. That was a personal favorite of Lucas Tulák’s. It showed a nice blend of brutality and raw emotion. 

It was about time his little brother was useful.


	6. Storytime

“I'm sorry about earlier,” Sam mumbled after a short drive. They were headed away from the interstate, away from the small city. It was good to be driving through trees again. Sam stared out the window.

Castiel cleared his throat. “You've done nothing wrong, Sam.” He ignored Sam's snort. “I apologize for my brother. Do you have siblings?”

“An older brother.”

He nodded. “Then you know what it's like to be harassed by one.” He gripped the wheel tighter, and stared hard at the road ahead.

Sam glanced at him. “I know what it's like to be pestered. But that's not the same thing. Big brothers are supposed to look out for you. The way he talked, it was more like he stalked you.”

“He's overbearing. He's convinced I'm going to grow out of this rebellious stage and come back to work for him. So he considers looking in on me, and randomly showing up when I'm not expecting him, as keeping track of an investment.”

He frowned at his friend. “That's not a brother. That's a bully.”

Castiel shrugged. “Not much I can do unless I want to move. And I don't.”

As the car pulled into a long, private drive, Sam could see why. He took in a sharp breath. “Cas, it's beautiful!”

His friend smiled with quiet pride.

The sunset was painting the sky orange and purple, and, just in the middle of a picturesque wooded area above a huge natural pond, sat a magnificent, bucolic cabin. The east and south featured beautiful old trees full of autumn flavor, and to the north was the escape onto a rustic pier. But the part that Sam couldn't tear his gaze from as he stepped from the car was to the west. Autumn wildflowers raced haphazardly out toward the sunset in the distance, in reds and yellows, as if it were kindred in some way with the heavens. The color seemed to go on forever.

Castiel took a breath. “It's my Eden. My soul gets all its strength from this space. It was my father's sanctuary in his retirement, and he knew how much I loved it, and he left it to me. That's what enabled me to leave my work with Lucas and our cousins and pursue my writing. I work at the motel for what little money I do need. And I spend the rest of my time just writing. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe it's all terrible. But it doesn't matter, because I write for me. I work for money. I write because it feeds my soul.”

Sam didn't know what he wanted to stare at most. He settled quickly on Castiel's blue eyes as they gazed in contentment at his haven. “I didn't realize there were places like this out here.”

He shook his head. “There aren't. There's no place like it anywhere. Just this.” Then he turned to his friend. “And that's why I can't leave. Because this is where I belong. It's where my soul finds peace. And maybe you can find some here too, Sam.”

Without warning, tears welled in his eyes. “Thank you for showing this to me, Cas. I don't deserve peace like this place. I can't...I can't have it…”

Castiel looked back out at the sunset. “Because you killed someone.”

Sam sucked in his breath in alarm. “You-you know about that? How can you even-Why would you agree to be alone with me at all?”

“I'm not afraid of you, Sam. I told you. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has things they wish they hadn't done.”

Shame was filling Sam, and he couldn't help the jagged breath, or the tear that slid down his cheek. “You don't understand. It wasn't an accident.”

Castiel gave him a sad smile. “Come sit with me, Sam.” He took hold of the man’s large hand, and he lead him to the porch where two old wooden chairs waited for them.

His chair squeaked far more than Castiel's, as if it had not been used in a very long time. Sam wondered how long it had been since anyone else had been to this place.

“It wasn't an accident,” Castiel prompted gently. He stared out at the fading streaks of light as if they were not discussing the most reprehensible of acts.

Sam swallowed hard. “No,” he said hoarsely. “It wasn't. I'm a-That is, I was a divorce lawyer. I liked helping people through a really tough time, helping them separate meaningful possessions and making the process as fair and simple as possible. It's such a painful thing to have to go through, and I liked being there to help make it just a little easier, you know?”

Castiel smiled, but did not speak.

“There was a client, Jessica, who was separating from her husband Tyson. He was just a snake. Always smiling, but he was also always just a breath away from snapping. I helped Jess through the divorce, helped her get what was hers, helped her start fresh. And one night, about a month after we finished up, she showed up at my home crying.”

“He was hurting her?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. He looked out over the wildflowers but he could see Jessica's eyes. “I'd suspected. But she always said she could take care of herself. And she was leaving him anyway, so I didn't think...Anyway, he had followed her to my place. Not sure how Jess got my home address, but she had barely come into the house when Tyson Brady burst in after her. And I saw her in the light, saw bruises and a cut lip, and blood, and he just leapt at her, and I couldn't help it.”

Castiel waited.

“He was just so brutal. He had gotten it in his head that Jess was seeing me. And he had beaten the shit out of her. And when she came running to me, because she didn't have anywhere else to go, he was furious. He grabbed her hair, and I punched him. Jess was screaming, Brady was cursing, and I just kept hitting him. He swung back, kept talking about what he was going to do to her, even while I was hitting him. And I could have stopped. He was down. I should have stopped. But I let one more punch fly, and...I'd broken his nose, and the last punch drove the bone deeper, and...and he was dead. One last punch, not for Jess or to make sure he stayed down. That last one was all for me. And it was the one that killed him.” Tears streaked his face mercilessly. “Tyson Brady was a horrible human being. But I had no right to do what I did. I could have stopped. I didn't. Instead of just getting Jess to safety, I ended a man's life. That's forever. And it wasn't an accident. It was just me being a monster.”

They were both quiet for a moment, then Castiel spoke softly. “Thank you for telling me. I like to know people's stories. It's important to me. I don't know why. Maybe because I see every story from the point of view of the author and not the narrator.”

Sam frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“You narrate your own story, but you don't write it, Sam. You tell it from your perspective, but that's all it is. My father was a writer too. He used to say that characters can never know their whole story while they're in it. They can only experience it as it is happening.”

Tears splashed Sam's cheeks as he shook his head. “I don't understand.”

Castiel smiled sadly. “It's not for you to decide if you're a hero or a villain, Sam. Your story isn't over. And you clearly think you're the villain, but even hearing the story from your point of view, I still don't believe that. You fought for a vulnerable, innocent character, and that's classic heroism at its best. Then you lost control, and you went too far, and that's tragic but it doesn't negate the purpose of the act, which was to protect. You didn't hit him one last time because you're a monster, Sam. You did it because you're human.”

Sobs choked out, and Sam dropped into his own hands. In time, he felt the gentle, strong comfort of Castiel's hands pulling him in to be held. After so long spent pushing away every kindness and every gesture that resembled compassion, Sam let someone touch him, hold him close, and warm the chill deep inside him. And a tiny part of him wondered for the first time in years if maybe he might deserve a little of the relief Castiel's arms offered.

***

The car sped down the highway on a road soaked by rain, but its driver stared resolutely ahead. Three months of searching, and Dean was certain he had finally found his brother. He knew Sam didn't want to see him. He didn't care. He needed to see Sam.

It had been a horrible year watching his father fade, and then putting him in the ground all alone. The hospital had told him about the large man who had come looking for John Winchester, saying that he was his younger son and pleading to see him. When they told him John had died two days before, the man had been devastated, and had stumbled back into oblivion with no further explanation.

Dean had been tracking him ever since. And finally he had him. He had to be near the district which had convicted him, if he was on parole. And now Dean had determined where.

He knew Sam thought staying away was part of his penance for having rid the world of a monster. It broke his heart knowing Sam still punished himself mercilessly for what that demon had made him do to protect that girl. If the tables had been turned, the psycho wouldn't have had a bit of remorse over Sam; Dean was certain of that. He had talked to Sam's assistant, who remembered the way Tyson Brady had talked about his wife like his property, the way Sam had once had to leave the conference room to collect himself after some of the things the man had said to his wife across the table.

Even if he didn't know what sort of man Tyson Brady had been, Dean knew Sam. Sam may have taken it too far, but Dean was proud of him for protecting that woman when Brady lunged at her. Dean had been in the courtroom while Jessica described the things Brady had done to her in the past, and how afraid she had been that night, because she was convinced that this was the night he would finally kill her. So she had gone to the only person she felt safe with, and he had protected her. In Dean's book, that spelled hero.

And he intended to find the big pain in the ass hero and tell him so.


	7. Freak

The world darkened around them, even as their hearts lightened of burdens carried on weary shoulders. They talked about Sam's time in prison, and Castiel writhed with the way Sam described his self-inflicted penance. There had been a month, early on, when Sam had barely been able to eat enough, and often left his tray untouched.

“I don't even know what I was trying to accomplish. I just couldn't eat. It was nauseating to put food in my mouth, and know it was something Brady couldn't ever do again. Stupid, right?” Sam sighed. “They gave me appetite enhancers, and I still just couldn't. A guard finally asked me if I was protesting something. I guess part of me had just gotten so disgusted by-by the lack of control that it decided to take control of something. Does that make any sense?”

Castiel nodded, and stroked wayward hair from the man's eyes. He was falling in love with those eyes. “Sam, would you let me hold you? Inside, I mean. I want to. And I think maybe you want me to.”

Pain slashed mercilessly across Sam's face. “I shouldn't. But I do,” he whispered. His voice was dripping with shame. “I really do.”

He helped his friend to his feet, and took his hand firmly in his own to lead Sam into the cabin. They peeled off shoes and left them tipped into one another at the door inside. Then Castiel gently pulled Sam toward the open air, screened room which he used anytime the weather allowed. It was enclosed in glass on three sides, and screened on the fourth. It could be closed off when necessary, but Castiel loved to keep it open. From there, they could stare out at the beautiful night while resting on the expansive sleeper couch he never bothered to fold in.

Sam stood at the edge of the room and stared down at the dark pond below. At last, he smiled through his tears. “I can hear frogs,” he murmured.

Castiel loved that this man paused in his obvious need for contact in order to comment on the frogs’ song. “I can't sleep without them,” admitted the writer.

His handsome face gave in to a peaceful expression. “Cas, this place is amazing. I've never felt anything like it.”

“You can see why I don't just move away from my family.”

Sam turned back to him, with concern in his eyes. “You shouldn't have to. They need to respect your decisions.”

The idea was comedic, but he knew Sam didn't mean for it to be. He reached out, and was rewarded by a shy but pleased smile. Sam sat beside him on the enormous sofa bed, and then lay with him. Castiel closed his eyes. It was as though he had been inching toward a wild animal for weeks, and it had finally accepted his touch. It was gratifying on a deep level to have Sam melting against his own frame.

“Thank you for showing me this place,” Sam breathed. “I've needed quiet for so long.”

“Everyone should have quiet. But sometimes you can only get it by sacrificing something else. Quiet sometimes comes at a cost, I find. It's a shame that quiet and loneliness are so compatible.”

Sam brought Castiel's knuckles to his lips and kissed them gently. “This morning, I was still in a strange world where I wanted badly to be near you, but I also was so afraid you might notice me. Thank you for noticing me.”

Pleasure bloomed in Castiel's chest, and he lifted his other hand to touch Sam's hair again. “You wanted to be near me?”

“I can't help it. Why do you think I'm always at the front desk? Just in case you want to chat. In case you want to say something, I want to be around to hear.”

A flush of arousal, which he had been trying to dampen down, rose in him again. “You thought I hadn't noticed you? How could I not notice you?”

Then Sam said the most ridiculous thing. “Because I'm so tall. I know.”

“Because you're tall? You're kidding, right?” he blurted out.

Sam’s face was bright red. “It's hard to hide when you're this awkward behemoth. I can remember exactly when I realized I was finally too big to hide behind my brother in public. And it's hard not to think of yourself as a monster when everyone has always stared like you're a freak.”

Castiel was fascinated. He wished he could swim around in Sam's head for hours, open all the stuck drawers, and learn everything there was to know about this character. “Sam, I noticed you were tall,” he began.

Sam sighed.

“But that isn't what made me pay attention.”

Hazel eyes turned to look at him with hope and suspicion battling inside them.

Castiel smiled, and let his hand slide through Sam's soft hair. “You're a good man, Sam Winchester.”

The eyes closed against the affirmation, and a rogue tear slipped out.

“I noticed that you were tall, and graceful, and strong. I noticed that you were handsome. But those are nice things that anyone would notice. I'm a writer, Sam. The things I care about are deeper. I love those things about you. It certainly makes my shift go faster when I can spend it watching you lift heavy boxes.”

A surprised sound of amusement came from Sam's throat.

“I like arms. What can I say?” Castiel smiled at him as the eyes peeked out again. “But what I really found intriguing were the expressions in your eyes. You're so wicked smart, Sam. And you feel so much and so deeply. You work with Miguel on his homework, and I know you love seeing him understand. I've seen you practice your Spanish, and I know it's just so you can extend some respect to some of our housekeepers. You never leave your shift without reminding everyone that it's okay to radio you if we need anything else. You walk the night clerk to her car whenever she has to go get something. You're a good man. And I kind of love that.”

Sam was staring at him with a thousand mixed emotions flitting across his face. Finally, he seemed to make a decision, and he reached up to touch Castiel's cheek. He moved forward, then paused to check Castiel's expression one last time, to assure himself that Castiel wanted this too, and then at last, their lips touched gently.

The writer hummed happily. It was so gratifying to know that he had been right about how amazing those lips would feel.


	8. Ultimatum

Castiel heard the lock slip, and opened his eyes. He glanced at Sam, who slept heavily beside him, naked glory tangled in white sheets. He might have liked to have the time to sit and appreciate the scene, but the light footstep across the cabin was not going to allow him that. He reached into the small nightstand, and pulled his handgun from under his copy of _Crime and Punishment_ , and crept out of the lovely sanctuary and back into reality.

His gun, held steady in two well-trained hands, did not lower when he saw his intruder’s face. “What are you doing here, Lucas?”

His brother grinned at him. “You know, Cassie, you are still the only one that could ever get the jump on me. Not even Gabe could pull that off. Such a waste of natural talent.”

“Natural,” Castiel spat. “You and Gabe were training me since I was old enough to stand.”

Lucas shrugged, and helped himself to Castiel's kitchen. “Before that,” he corrected. “What's the point in having a brother and cousin thirteen years older if you can't learn from their life experience?”

“What are you doing here?”

He glanced back at the younger man. “Put the gun away. You're not going to shoot me. At least, not today.”

Castiel sighed with frustration. He lowered his weapon. “This going to take long? If so, I'd like to put on some pants.”

Lucas snorted a laugh. “I've seen you in boxers before, but go ahead if it makes you feel better.”

He glared at him for another moment, then shook his head and retreated into his main bedroom to find a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. He padded barefoot back into the kitchen to find Lucas eating his bagels straight out of the bag. “Get out of my food.”

“If you'll let me put you to work, you'd have more in your kitchen for me to steal. This stuff is crap.”

“I work. I work all the time, in fact. I'm just fine. So what are you doing here?”

Lucas stared him down for a moment, then let his teeth bare in a nasty smile. “He's here right now, isn't he?”

Castiel felt a twinge of anxiety stab into him. “Who?”

“Who?” Lucas snickered. He stood to stalk his younger brother like a cat. “Who? Sam Winchester. The felon.”

Finally, it was fear which filled Castiel's heart. “What do you know about Sam? So he's got a record. So do you. So does Gabe. So do most of the people we know.”

“But not you, Cassie.”

Blue eyes lowered. “You make that sound like something I should be ashamed of, Luke.”

“Oh no. No. You should be proud of that. Because you've got plenty of notches on your wall, but you've never had to serve time for that. No, not my little brother. Too clever for that.”

Castiel's face heated, and he stared at the floor. “I did what I was told to do.”

Lucas smiled sympathetically. “Poor Cassie. Always jerked around on his puppet strings. But I seem to remember one job you did volunteer for. Remember? I don't think any of us made you do that last little job, did we? Help me remember.”

He ground his teeth together. “It needed to be done. Everything else was about profit,” he spat. “That...that was mercy.”

“But kind of fun too, right?” Lucas sneered.

Tears burned Castiel's eyes as he fought against the flood of memories. “That was the most horrible night of my life, and the worst thing I have ever had to do. Don't you dare taunt me about that. I'll kill you right here and now with my bare hands.”

“That's how he did it, you know.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Who? What are you talking about?”

Lucas grinned wide. “Cassie, Cassie. Jumping into bed with a man you know nothing about.”

“If this is about Sam-”

“Killed the guy with his bare hands. That's cold. Don't you agree? Never done it myself. Oh, but...but you, Cas! You know how that feels, don't you?”

“Stop it.”

“How it feels to snuff a man. Watch his life fade from his eyes. Kind of a thrill, right? I mean, that's miles beyond what me and Gabe made you do. I made you shoot a guy in the leg once. That sucked for him. Made you choke a guy unconscious. But still not the same, is it?”

Castiel suddenly felt as though he were about to throw up. “Get out of my house.”

And that was a mistake. Lucas pounced on that with malice and delight in his eyes. “Your house! Your house? Was Pop’s place before you were so merciful. What's it like, Cas, living and fucking in the same house where you killed your old man?”

An agonized whimper escaped his lips then, and Castiel stumbled backward. His momentum was captured in strong hands before he could fall.

“Leave him alone,” Sam growled.

Lucas smiled pleasantly. “Sam! Nice of you to join us! I needed to chat with you about some business.”

Castiel's eyes closed. “That's what you came for,” he breathed in despair.

Sam met the older man's stare coldly. “What do you want?”

“I've got a job that needs doing. I'm a hard worker myself, but I need someone who, frankly, doesn't have my face. The person involved knows me, you see, and I'm afraid I wouldn't get close enough before he caught on.”

“I'm not doing anything for you.”

Lucas shrugged. “Okay. No problem! But, see, if you don't, that criminal record Cassie’s been running away from all his life just might catch up to him.”

Castiel sighed miserably.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'll find someone else, but I'll have to kill you and frame him for it anyway, since you already know more than I like. And I'll be sure the right people find out how our daddy really died too.”

Sam stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you kidding?”

Castiel shook his head. “Luke, I'm out. I'm out of the business and out of your way. Why isn't that enough for you?”

Lucas turned a dark, icy glare on his brother. “Because I trained you. I gave you everything. And you turned your back on me. I built you! You belong to me. And this is your punishment for trying to turn your back on your creator. Your punishment is to punish another member of the family who wants to betray me. And if you won't do it, you better hope to God this guy will.”

Castiel felt his throat closing. “Who? Jesus, Luke, who are you taking down? A cousin?”

“ _The_ cousin,” Lucas spat. “More of a brother to me than you ever were. We raised this business together. And now he wants out? I taught him every trick he knows!”

His heart sank in his chest. “Gabriel,” he choked. “You're putting a hit on Gabriel. Over what? Over money?”

“Over loyalty!” his brother screamed. “Over family!” He pointed a finger at Castiel's chest, making him flinch. “So there's your choice, Castiel! You can do the hit on your traitor cousin, or you can make this guy do it for you. I don't care. But if Gabe isn't dead in forty-eight hours, I'll kill your pretty felon here and you'll be incarcerated in no time, and the world, including the rest of the family, will know what you did to our father.” He glowered darkly. “Decide quickly. Forty-eight starts right now.”

The door slammed so hard behind him that every window in the cabin shook in protest.

There was silence then.

Sam sighed. “So, are you the type to cook breakfast for your hookups?”

Castiel turned to stare at him.


	9. Light

Sam let himself into his room, and closed the door behind him. His heart was still aching. It had taken just one long night of talking and touching for Sam to fall entirely in love with Castiel. The shy crush he had felt in his chest for the past few months had grown into something real. And now they were in this situation together. Sam had no intentions of letting Castiel deal with that extortionist brother he called Lucifer by himself. Sam didn't like bullies.

He flipped on his light, and then slammed back against the door with a shocked curse.

“Heya, Sammy.”

He let out his breath too quickly. “Dammit, Dean, what the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in?”

His brother smiled at him. “What, like it's hard? I've been jimmying locks since I was twelve.”

Sam sighed irritably. “Yeah. Car locks. You shouldn't be able to do that with my motel room door.”

Dean shrugged. “Turns out the credit card thing still works on old doors like this. Who knew?”

The younger man glared past his brother at the wall behind him. “So why aren't you out at Singer’s, getting folks into their locked cars? What the hell are you doing here? And why the hell are you in the dark?”

He sat up and rubbed a hand down his face. “I wasn't till it got obvious you weren't coming home last night. It was a long five years, Sammy. I needed some sleep.”

Guilt calmed his adrenaline at last, and he let a breath out too fast again, only to feel tears on his cheeks. “God, I missed you.”

And then Dean had his arms around him, and his hand gripped the hair at the back of his head, just like when they were kids, and Sam closed his eyes to sob into his brother's shoulder. “Okay. Okay, little brother. I'm here.”

He knew he didn't deserve it. He knew he should take off again, jump parole and disappear where love and comfort could never find him. He was a killer, and he was unrepentant. No matter what the parole board thought. He had played the part and said the right things, in order to get out in time for his father, but he had screwed that up too, released too late, and anyway, it didn't matter what those people thought. Sam knew his own heart, and after all this time, he still wasn't sorry Brady was dead. He still wasn't sorry he had killed a man. And that meant he didn't deserve this.

But his weak attempt to push it away only led to his brother holding tighter. “Nope. Not yet. You're going to stand there and let me be a brother again for the first time in years. Bitch.”

He sniffed. “Jerk,” he whimpered.

He could feel Dean's huff of satisfaction, could hear his smile in his voice. “I'm here, and I ain't leaving you, Sammy. You're gonna be fine.”

The sobs came harder than ever, until he was shaking too hard to stand, and Dean eased him down to sit in the bed. He never broke contact. “I'm so sorry,” he wheezed. “I'm sorry I put you through this. I'm sorry I screwed up so bad. I'm so sorry I missed Dad dying. I'm so...I'm so sorry, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean murmured. “I know, little brother.”


	10. Scent

Dean listened.

He asked questions.

He frowned a lot.

But he neither scolded nor raised his voice. Sam was impressed. In the end, he spoke firmly about what was going to take place, and Sam felt a huge burden lift from his shoulders. Dean was there. Somehow, it was all better because Dean was calling the shots.

“Sammy,” he said finally, “I need to meet him. Castiel. You can't leave town, or you'll break your parole agreement. And I know you aren't going to run while this friend of yours is being blackmailed.”

“Extorted.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and Sam let it drop. “It sounds like this guy is a piece of work, Sam.”

The younger man licked his lips carefully. “He's...It's not just...He's a little more than…”

His brother rolled his eyes. “What, because I can't add two and two? You stumble back to your rack at six in the morning, and you're wearing some other guy's cologne. Of course he's more than a friend.”

His face burned red. “I'm not wearing…” He stopped, and cringed. “Oh. I need a shower, I guess.”

“I can probably find him easy enough. He’ll be the guy with your cheap motel soap smell all over him.”

“Oh my God, stop talking! I hadn't gotten laid for almost five years.”

Dean laughed. “Tell the truth. You weren't getting much before prison.”

Sam threw his hands up. “You know what? It's kind of comforting. I go to prison for years, I come back, and you're still not funny.”

“What are you talking about? I'm hilarious.”

Sam closed the bathroom door behind him, and turned on the shower. He pulled off his shirt and sniffed at it. He gave in to a crooked smile. Dean was right. He smelled like Castiel. Pleasure rippled through him, and he sniffed at it again before hanging it on the back of the door. Maybe that one didn't need to be washed right away.

***

Dean listened for the water to turn on, then he took a breath and called after his brother. “Sam? I'm going to go out for coffee. You want anything?”

“I got a machine!” the man called back.

“Yeah, but no food. I checked. Except a stupid whole grain bagel, and I ate that. I'll be back later with something real.”

“Thanks, man.”

“And, Sammy?” he said in his big brother voice.

“What?”

“You take off, next time I find you, I'm going to kick your ass.”

There was a pause, then Sam sighed over the water. “I know. I'll be here.”

Dean nodded at the closed door. “Damn right, you will,” he muttered under his breath.

He had learned from Sam when Castiel came on shift. He went straight to the front desk, and waited till an exhausted man with dark circles under his eyes emerged from the back and tried to smile at him. “Yes, sir?”

A feral snarl came over him. “You the ass that's got my brother in a no-win bind?”

What little color Castiel had on his face drained from it immediately. “You're Dean!”

Dean wanted to stab this man in the chest right here. But he made himself take a deep breath instead. “You care about him at all? Sam, he anything to you?”

Castiel seemed to wilt without even moving. “He's the only thing I've cared about in a very long time. And that's why Lucas is using him against me. Because...because he can.”

“You care about him more than your crazy brother?”

He watched heartbreak fill those ridiculous blue eyes. It made Dean's final decision for him. “Sam is a better man than Lucas could have ever been. I'm so sorry your brother got pulled into this mess. I love my brother, but I'm in love with yours. And Lucas...He's lost now. He's so far gone that I don't think there's any of my brother left in him.”

“Then get off work. Now. You and me, we're going hunting.”


	11. Mercy

He was in the passenger of a beautiful classic car. He felt trapped. “What did you tell Sam?”

“What did Sam tell you?” Dean countered.

Castiel swallowed. “He said we would talk it out after my shift, but that he was going to make it all okay. Which...which is crazy. Because he never should have been involved to begin with. And I can take care of myself. All he needs to do is run.”

Dean gave him the ghost of a smile. “Sam don't run.”

Castiel sighed out the window. “So I've heard.”

“Look, kid. My brother is a good man. And he's not going down for this. And he seems to think you're a good man too. Though I'm suspecting you might have more to your story than I know yet. Are you a good man, Cas?”

He closed his eyes, and made himself tell the truth for once. “No. But I try.”

“Your brother made you do some bad shit. I get that. But what did you do that's eating you?”

“What did Sam tell you?”

“Sam doesn't know. Sam’s still so busy eating himself alive he can't see any guilt that isn't his. So tell me.”

Castiel stared out the window until tears blurred the view. “I've got a lot to feel guilty about.”

“Maybe,” the man murmured. “But there's one thing that's kept you from taking on your brother yourself. I could see it in your eyes. You could take down your brother. But you don't, because he's your punishment.”

He breathed in a sob then. “How did you know that?”

“That you're using your brother as your penance? Because that's exactly what Sam does.”

A laugh barked out of him, and the tears broke to slip down his cheeks. “I keep Lucifer in my life to punish myself. He keeps his hero out of his life to punish himself. Some pair we make, right?”

“I ain't a hero. Tell me what you did, Cas.”

He smiled through utter exhaustion. “I killed my father.”

There was silence.

He waited.

“There's more to that story, Cas. Tell me.”

“Does it matter?” he asked. “I killed my own father. Luke’s father.”

“Tell me.”

It was interesting the way Castiel was inclined to follow this man's quiet order, but not his own brother’s shouted demands. “He was dying,” he sighed hoarsely. “It was so horrible. I moved in with him to care for him, and every minute I wasn't working at the motel, I was at his side. I worked nights for a long time so I could be there when he was awake, and I dreaded every shift thinking he could need something while I was gone. But I had promised him I wouldn't work for Lucas. I could have made enough money in a night to cover expenses for two weeks, but I had promised my father I wouldn't.”

Dean waited without a word.

Castiel took a deep breath. “Every day, I thought, all I would have to do is intimidate some guys, collect money some dealers owed my brother. Horrible people, all of them. And I could spend almost every night home to take care of my father. It's what I was trained for my whole life. I was supposed to be the collector. The Reaper, as Luke put it. Never had to kill anyone. Just make them believe I would. But I had promised my father I wouldn't. So I didn't. And in the end, he asked the same thing of me that Lucas had.”

There was understanding in Dean's voice, and to Castiel's shock, there was sympathy there too. “He asked you to help him die.”

Castiel turned to him with angry tears washing his face. “He asked me to kill him! He wanted the same damn thing from me that I had spent a lifetime saying was going too far. I've done some horrible things, Winchester. I was a nightmare! But I drew a line, and I never crossed it. Not till he asked that of me!” He collapsed against the passenger window. “How could he ask that of me?”

“That's a bitch of a thing to put on a son,” Dean murmured. “I'm really sorry, man. I spent a year watching my Dad suffer, and it crossed my mind more than once he might do it himself. But I never even thought what if he asked me. I don't know if I could have. I hope I could have.”

He took a shuddered breath. “No you don't. Ask your brother. You don't want to be the kind of man who can do that.”

Dean was careful in his choice of words, and Castiel almost wished he wouldn't bother. “I hope,” he said softly, “that I'd be the kind of man who's strong enough to bring comfort to someone I love when he's suffering enough to ask for it, even when I know what it would do to me. That ain't a killer, man. They call that an angel of mercy.”

Castiel tried to smile at him. “You may or may not be a hero, Dean. But I'm no angel.” He took a deep breath. “You never answered me. What'd you tell Sam?”

“Told him the truth. I had a plan. And it didn't include either of you killing somebody.”

He nodded slowly. “And the rest of the truth?”

“Your brother likes making deals? I'm ready to deal. Just not with him.”

Castiel let out the breath he had been holding. “So we aren't heading to kill my cousin.”

Dean glanced at him. “Your family is fucked up, buddy.” He turned back to the road. “Of course I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to tip him off that his brother put out a hit on him, and let him take it from there. And I got a backup surprise, from a buddy of mine that owes me, in case that first check bounces. I'm not letting anybody screw over my brother. Least of all the family of the dude that's screwing my brother.”

Castiel's mouth snapped closed. He found he had no response to that.


	12. Bully

Once, when they were kids, Dean and Sam had been mugged walking home after a movie. Dean had been terrified his brother would be hurt. It hadn't actually occurred to him until late that night that he also could have been hurt in the altercation. Dean had handed over the few crumpled bills in his pocket, and the guy had been angry that it wasn't more. He had grabbed Sam by the hair and put the switchblade to his throat. Sam had shocked Dean by laughing. 

He remembered staring at his brother, wondering if this was some weird reaction to fear, but just as he was about to try to talk the guy down, Sam spoke up. “Dude, you got no idea who my brother is. If you did, you would never mess with him.”

Dean Winchester had been in more than his fair share of fights by the time he left high school, but those never included a switchblade or his scrawny brother in the middle of it. But the confidence with which he spoke made the guy frown and narrow his eyes at Dean. And most importantly, he moved the knife from Sam to point at Dean. 

Immediately, Sam threw his elbow into the guy’s stomach, turned, and kneed him in the groin, then leapt to Dean's side. All that was left for Dean was to punch the guy in the nose, then kick him in the head when he hit the ground. Dean still had that knife. 

When he had asked what Sam had been thinking, talking like that, his little brother had just frowned hard and looked away. “I don't like bullies. They think because they're bigger they can take what they want. We didn't have as much money as he wanted. So you know, after he was done with us? He was gonna hit some other kids. Maybe somebody even littler than me. I just...I just don't like big guys that pick on kids who are smaller.”

Dean's heart had ached. He wondered if Sam was speaking from experience. If so, somebody was getting his lungs ripped out at school the next day. But he just shook his head. “You get that you could have gotten killed? Somebody does something like that, you give him your money and let him move on to the next kid. You hear me?”

“Dean, my life isn't worth more than anybody else's.”

The older boy had grabbed Sam's arm and looked at him in the eye. “It isn't worth any less. Okay? You hear me?”

Sam had lowered his eyes and nodded. But Dean had known then that Sam had no idea how valuable he was. Sam had never known. 

He still didn't know. But Dean did. And he wasn't going to let the kid put himself in danger for anyone else again. Not if Dean could do it instead. Just the thought of Sam being bullied by a bigger kid had made him crazy back then. Knowing that he and his boyfriend were being extorted by a dangerous, probably crazy man made his blood boil. 

Much like that day back in Lawrence, it didn't really occur to Dean that he could be hurt too. His only thought was watching out for his little brother. 

So when Gabriel Tulák raised his gun to Dean's face, and pulled back the hammer, it was as much a surprise to Dean as anyone else.


	13. Bell

Gabriel Tulák had thirty years experience conning people. Some days, he did it in a Hawaiian shirt, and some days in a three piece suit. More often, especially lately, he had been doing it while wearing nothing at all. Older ladies loved him in that particular state of dress. He was good at what he did, and he loved his job.

What he enjoyed a lot less was the work he did with his cousin Lucas. It had begun as selling pot and mushrooms, and Gabriel had been on board with that. They had expanded after high school and before Gabriel knew it, younger cousins were handling the weed business, and also selling painkillers, and Gabriel had moved on to selling cocaine to an entirely different clientele. His job was to hit the arrogant rich kids and businessmen. Lucas, on the other hand, was actively working the dark alleys and crack houses. Gabriel didn't like feeding off addicts and prostitutes, and the most vulnerable groups of people. Somehow it seemed different, worse. But he turned his head, and Lucas had never pushed him to do it himself.

In the last several years, he and Lucas had mostly gone their separate ways, as Lucas continued to provide poison to the masses, with his small army of younger cousins, and Gabriel had found more fun ways of making money, by exploiting lovely cougars.

Easing out of the cocaine racket had also enabled him to finally stop using. Lucas had always bitched about him snorting the profits anyway.

He had heard that little Castiel had done a bit of that himself years back, though his vice was for the painkillers. He had once had his collarbone snapped in an altercation, and it plagued him so that Lucas had sometimes given him a bonus of the best pills he had after Castiel had done a job collecting his money for him. Gabriel began to suspect it might be the jobs themselves which were causing his little cousin to suffer.

Gabriel and Castiel had a lot in common as it turned out.

The moment Gabriel opened the door, he knew why Castiel was there. What he wasn't sure was what to do about it. So he did what he always did when cornered. He pulled his gun and pretended that he would shoot, while his mind went tearing through his options regarding running away. But even while that was his reflex, he couldn't bring himself to aim at Castiel, so he steadied his weapon on the other guy.

“Cas?” the man grumbled when the shock let him speak. “Your family is fucked up.”

Castiel sighed.

Gabriel considered. His cousin was notoriously fast, and brutally cold. Even if he shot this first guy, which he wasn't at all prepared to do unless he had to, there wasn't much chance of Castiel hesitating long enough, by checking his buddy's wound, for Gabriel to vanish. When Castiel decided he was willing to go back to work for Lucas, and when he had decided that would include killing, Gabriel had no idea. Lucas must have kept him in his back pocket just for an occasion like this, like Gabriel going off the rails. But even if he was bitterly hurt to find out Castiel had sold his soul just for him personally, Gabriel still knew in his heart that he was not going to be able to shoot Castiel first. That didn't leave him a lot of options.

Charm it was, then.

“Hi, baby cousin. You and Luke have a family meeting without me?”

Castiel's hands went up slowly to prove they were empty, which hardly meant Castiel wasn't dangerous. Everyone knew that. “We aren't here for a fight.”

“Want to hear my side of the story? It's a good one. I'm cast as an angel in it. It's very good, with very little indiscriminate pornography. What little it does have is very tastefully done.”

The other guy's eyes shifted to peer at Castiel.

But Gabriel was treated to a weary smile. “Gabe, you were always my favorite idiot. Take the gun down. You clearly already know about Lucas putting a hit on you, so me coming to warn you is moot now. We’ll leave you alone.”

Like Fox Mulder, on the show he had been watching when the bell rang, Gabriel wanted to believe. But contrary to Castiel's snipe, Gabriel wasn't an idiot. In his world, no one told the truth. The truth was out there, but it was always a liability. “Luke put out a hit, and you came to warn me? You're his kid brother, Cassie. You've always answered to him.”

“I'm sure your story’s awesome,” the other guy said finally. “I'm a connoisseur of porn myself. But how about you listen to our story. Because whatever problem you and your asshole of a cousin have, you better work it out between you. My buddy and I don't want anything to do with it.”

“Gun down, Gabe,” Castiel said, and this time, his voice had that lethal coldness Gabriel had trained up personally. “If you don't lower it, I'll break it off at your shoulder.”

Somehow it made Castiel more believable when he spoke like that. Gabriel slowly lowered his hands, and could see the relief in the green eyes before him. “Talk, Cas.”

Castiel sighed. “Thank you. And, Gabe, if I were ever to come to kill you, I wouldn't ring the bell. You just wouldn't have woken up the next morning.” He and his friend filed past him into the house, and made themselves at home.


	14. Dreamscape

_He could tell he was dreaming, but that wasn't very helpful when he couldn't do much about it. And he could never do much about it._

_“Wake up, Sam,” the corpse mocked. “Wake up. Make it stop. Make mean old Brady go away. And Dirk the Jerk. And Gordon Walker. And everyone else who was ever bigger than you.”_

_“Leave me alone.”_

_“But it was never about being bigger than you, was it, Sam? It was about me being bigger than Jessica. Dirk being bigger than Barry. Gordon being bigger than Lenore.”_

_“Just stop.”_

_The corpse was cackling now. “God, Lenore. What a freak.”_

_Sam put his palms over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut. Why didn't that ever work in dreams? He curled up further against the wall._

_“Freak. Just like you. Just like Amy, whose mom used to beat the crap out of her when she was drunk. Just like-”_

_“Enough!” Sam roared. “That's enough!”_

_But Brady's lifeless glare was steady on him. “Just like Kevin and Mr. Crowley next door. You didn't save Kevin, did you? You didn't save Lenore. God, Lenore. Gordon left beautiful bruises on her, and there was nothing you could do. And now you think you got a chance at saving Cas? That brother of his is bigger, meaner. Scares you a little, doesn't he?”_

_Sam’s eyes opened, and he shook his head. “I'm not scared of him.”_

_Brady knew that. “Oh, I know,” he snarled. “I know. You're not scared of him. What scares you is that you want to do to him what you did to me. With your bare hands, you want to punch him until he's unrecognizable, until you feel the heat of his blood all over you.” The demon turned to him with a look of curiosity on his face. “You ever get my blood out of that suit? No? Just curious. That was a good suit. Best one you could ever afford. Probably never need one again, though, huh? What's it like paying student loans on a law degree you can't use, on a motel handyman’s salary? Good thing about that free ride to undergrad. Bummer about the rest.”_

_It hurt something deep in Sam. In all the nightmares he had suffered all this time, the wasted degree had never been something Brady had taunted him over. It was painful in a way Sam couldn't even dissect._

_“Family law,” Brady spat. “Family law. Making and breaking families. Like you got any right to have your filthy hands in other people's families. If Lenore or Kevin had come to you that night, would you have killed Gordon or Mr. Crowley?”_

_The rapid fire, disjointed accusations kept Sam off balance. He couldn't defend against them even if he wanted to._

_Would he have killed Gordon Walker if he could have? Lenore had been a freak. Brady was right about that. But she had been kind, and smart, and she had been his friend. And Gordon had been bigger._

_“You're thinking of Lucas now, aren't you?” Brady whispered. His mouth was hot against his ear suddenly. “About how he makes Castiel feel trapped. Poor, stupid Castiel. Weird little freak. Just your type. He's a whore for mundane drama, but he hates actual conflict. What a peculiar creature.”_

_“He's a writer.”_

_“He's an oxymoron and a mess.”_

_Sam lowered his head into his hands. “He's a beautiful mess.”_

_“Why? Because he doesn't think you're a monster? I already diagnosed him as stupid. And I'm a doctor. Or I was. Before you sent bone fragments and hard cartilage into my brain. Speaking of messes.” Brady sat beside him finally, and put his head on Sam's shoulder. “Ever think about all those patients I'm not helping right now?”_

_Sam just sighed. The nightmare would continue until Brady had said his piece. And there was nothing to do but listen. There was always going to be a bully he could do nothing about._


	15. Loyalty

Castiel was smiling. “It isn't a bad deal, Gabriel.”

His cousin watched Dean's eyes. Of the three sitting at the table with Gabriel, Dean seemed to be the one he was using to gauge whether or not to trust them. Castiel found that fascinating.

The third man cleared his throat. “Look, buddy. You can hang out and wait for this psycho cousin of yours to kill you. I, for one, got no doubt he can and will. Or you can run, and let him chase you. Again, he can and will. Or you could let us set you up with a new identity and swing you safe passage through the justice system. You tell me where you're going to get a better arrangement. I'd like to know.”

Those whiskey brown eyes glanced at Castiel at last. “Would you?”

He took a deep breath. “Same situation? Yeah, Gabe. I'd have to. I'm not sure I could leave the cabin in any other case. But it's your best option.”

At last, his cousin gave them his signature grin. “I got a request. I'm too screwed to call it a condition. But I gotta go be a whole new person after this, right?”

“A law-abiding one,” the fed clarified.

“Of course. If I were married when I gave you everything you needed to take down the entire operation Lucas has been running...she'd probably have to get a new identity and skip town too.”

Agent Henriksen narrowed his eyes. “You're pushing your luck, Tulák.”

He shrugged. “But hypothetically.”

Henriksen sighed at Dean. “Man, you said you had a favor to ask, you weren't kidding. I've wanted to take out Lucas Tulák my whole career, but if it means putting up with this joker…”

Gabriel smirked. “Deal or no deal, feeb?”

The agent shrugged. “You come into my office married, there ain't much I can do about that. But you better not die in the meantime. I got a surf and turf dinner riding on this conviction, and I can't move on it till I got a witness that ain't going to scare off.”

A sort of smile Castiel was certain he had never seen on Gabriel’s face brightened the room. “She goes by Kali. Bit of a cougar. I talked her into marrying me when I found out Luke was probably gonna have me killed. Reverse con. I stole her jewelry, and she married me for the life insurance.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at the smitten look in his cousin’s eyes. “You got married? When?”

“Yesterday morning. It was lovely. She wore red and black, I wore white. I wept. It was beautiful.”

Henriksen threw his hands up. “Okay. I'm calling my partner, and we're going to take you and your lovely bride into protective custody. You got the right to shut up, for what it's worth.”

Dean nodded. “And me and my buddy were never here,” he reminded quietly.

Henriksen shrugged. “Think I'm giving you any credit for scoring Gabe Tulák testifying against his sadistic cousin? You're what we like to call an anonymous tip, citizen. Go. And don't touch anything on the way out.”

Castiel turned to Gabriel. “Good luck. I won't be involved, unless I get a court order. But my name isn't on anything. I'm clear.”

Gabriel smiled at him with a rare fondness. “Take care of the good cousins, Cas. Some of them are like you. Victims of circumstance. Those others, they'll go down with Luke. But the ones who were just trying to survive...It's a big family, Cassie. We can't all be bad.”

He sighed. “Good luck, Gabe. Take care of yourself.”

“That's what I do.”

Dean looked at Henriksen with worry. “What if Lucas starts talking and won't shut up? About...about others being involved?”

“I got a feeling he's going to be so pissed with me that he won't give Cassie or his boyfriend another thought,” Gabriel promised. “I'll make sure of it, in fact. I know my cousin. Cas will be just fine. It's about time I stood up for somebody other than me.”

Dean snorted softly. “There's a lot of trust going on here, among a lot of folks who ain't used to trusting or being trusted. Just know that if my brother is mentioned even in passing? Key witness or not, I will stab you in your face.”

Gabriel laughed. “Noted.” He slapped his wrists together. “Come on, feeb! Been awhile since I played cuffs and robbers. Slap on some metal, and make me squeal. My safe word is Truffle.”

Henriksen glared at Dean. “This ain't gonna be worth the promotion I'm gonna get for this.”

Dean and Castiel hurried toward the door. “You're on your own,” he shot back. “I'm just a citizen, remember?”

“Stay away from the papers, Cassie. It's gonna get nasty. Apocalyptic, if Lucifer tries to bare his teeth. Lay low. The whole family is going to be at one another's throats. Stick with writing drama, not living it.”

He smiled weakly. “That's the idea,” he sighed. He looked back at Dean. “We should go.”

He could feel Dean's eyes on him, but he felt too sick to his stomach to do anything beyond sliding into the passenger seat and slumping in exhaustion, and Dean did not say a word.

He had chosen. If someone had told him twenty years ago that he would incite a civil war in the family-worse still that he would be on Gabriel's side against his own brother, he never would have believed it.

As it was, his heart was torn. Part of it was screaming at him. Selfish! Traitor. Not enough that he left the family business. He had to tear it apart too. People he loved were going to go to prison. Distant cousins would turn on one another, might even hurt or kill one another when lines were drawn. Gabriel had once described their family as both too dysfunctional and too organized to be mafia. Lucas dismissed the accusation, and responded that they were simple businessmen dealing in vice, with strong inclinations toward keeping profits in the family. Now Castiel had set in motion a betrayal from which none of them would ever recover.

But he glanced through a film of silent tears at Dean, saw his stern determination to see that his little brother got his second chance, and he forced himself to speak.

“I'm sorry your brother met me. And I'm sorry I didn't keep my distance. But he understands what it's like to reach for redemption. To hate what you were once, and to want to be better. I'm what Sam thinks he is. I never killed anyone, with the exception of my father. But I never protected anyone like Sam did either.”

Dean's eyebrow raised, even as he stared hard at the road. “You protected him today. That ain't nothing.”

Castiel closed his eyes. “I've damned my family,” he murmured.

“They did that to themselves.”

He shook his head. “I'm a traitor. I'll be hated and maybe even hunted. But I promise I won't let Sam...I'll be sure he moves on. I promise.”

Dean sighed. “My friend Vic isn't going to let your brother come after you. And I believe Gabriel when he says he'll deflect it from you.”

“Maybe. But I can't risk Sam getting hurt.” He thought of last night, the way he and Sam had bared everything, their hearts, souls and bodies. And Sam had been so clean underneath, while Castiel had been mottled and pocked with guilt. “I've spent the last few years thinking only of myself, Dean. Like Gabriel, it's time I looked out for someone else.”

***

“Don't you think I should get a say in that?” Sam growled angrily.

Castiel stared at him. “I...Of-of course, I-”

“What is wrong with you?”

He wasn't sure. When he figured it out one day, he was going to write about it. A tragic comedy, most likely, or at least a comedic tragedy.

Sam had listened in relative silence to Castiel and Dean upon their arrival back at the hotel. He looked exhausted, though he claimed to have fallen asleep waiting for his brother's return. But now, there was a spark to his eyes that Castiel found bewildering and a little sexy at the same time.

“I don't know what you mean,” he confessed finally.

“Dean's old buddy from his time in the National Guard, he's going to take your cousin into protective custody.”

“And his wife.”

Sam didn't even look at Dean. “And they're arresting Lucas-”

“Probably as we speak,” Dean muttered.

“And you're getting a real second chance-”

“More like third. Or eighth,” sighed Castiel.

“And you don't think that should include me?”

Castiel looked up into those hazel green eyes. “God, Sam, I wish it could. But I would be putting you at-”

“Don't you get it?” Sam shrieked hoarsely.

Both Dean and Castiel stepped back involuntarily.

Sam burst into tears from half a foot above him. “Cas, you're the only thing in years that made me feel like I wasn't a monster! You're...Cas, you're the only friend I've let myself have in years! And maybe I don't deserve that, maybe I shouldn't want it-or maybe I shouldn't have it exactly because I want it, but dammit, Castiel! You're the first chance I've taken in years! That cabin was the first place I felt any peace. I…” A sob stuck in his throat, and the sound of it made Dean flinch and close his eyes. “I slept there! You don't understand. I don't sleep. I haven't truly slept since I lost my soul.”

Castiel felt his heart rending from his chest. “It was just a night,” he forced out.

“Really? Was it?” Sam shook his head. “Because I'd like to know how many people on the planet know how your father died. Go on. How many?”

The strangest thing happened then. Dean's hand closed over Castiel's arm, and he knew it was all that was holding him up. This man he hadn't known from Adam hours ago, a man whose brother had been put in danger because of Castiel, he was lending his strength. It was probably the kindest act Castiel had ever known. It was no wonder this man was Sam’s hero, his punishment and his redemption.

But Sam was staring him down, waiting for his answer.

“Three,” he breathed. “My brother. Your brother. And you.”

Somehow, it didn't faze Sam to know Dean had joined them in that secret. “Right. But it was just a night. And I'm just a guy. Cas, don't you know what it means to me that you can trust me? That you don't see a monster when you look at me? Maybe it was just a night. And maybe we're just going to be friends. But we're going to be friends, Cas. Because we both need that.”

Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I'm a traitor. I rebelled against the family. Some of them might want to hurt me for that. And I can't run. You know I can't leave that cabin. It's everything to me.”

“I'm not afraid, Cas. Not of that. I don't run. What scares me is not taking a chance here and hating myself for it forever. And if someone is going to threaten to hurt you because you've done the right thing, let me be there. Please. I got nothing else. And it's the first thing in years I think might be worth fighting for.”

Castiel remembered the way Gabriel had looked to Dean, as he found himself instinctively doing the same.

Dean took a breath. “You tell me where you're going to get a better arrangement. I'd like to know.”

He heard Henriksen’s words echoing, and he couldn't help smiling. “Sam, you're a good man, and a true friend. I hope I deserve you one day.”

Sam sighed with relief and sat down hard in his chair to let his head fall into his trembling hand.


	16. Cocoon

Sam was taller than Dean, but he tended to still look up at him from under his hair. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured again. 

His brother sighed. “I'm not that far, okay? Two hours, that's it. And you got a phone. Use it. Don't…” Green eyes closed and he shook his head, like he was trying to keep his temper. “Don't make me come find you again, Sammy.”

“I won't.”

“Sam, if I hadn't shown up when I did, if I hadn't just happened to know a guy who works for the FBI...What would you have done?”

He smiled sadly. “Deanus ex machina,” he muttered. “Or Deus ex Deano? I'll ask Cas. Apparently he majored in literature.”

“I don't know what you're saying right now.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “It doesn't matter. I don't know what I would have done. Cas says we can't know the story we’re in, and we can't know if we're the hero or villain or what. I honestly don't know what I would have done. The plot kind of got away from me,” he admitted. “I was too busy with character development.”

“Sam, this is exactly why we gotta stay in each other's lives. We each gotta always know that the other is just a phone call away. Dad’s gone. Bobby's semi-retired now, so I pretty much run the business. I know you got Cas now, but I need you too. So whatever you think you did or should've done...We gotta move past that now. Because your way of punishing yourself is killing me.”

He nodded, and tried to pretend there weren't tears blurring his vision. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe...Can you stay another day, maybe? We can spend tomorrow catching up. I mean, you're caught up with me. But I don't know anything about you. I'm off tomorrow. The only thing I've got to do all day is fax something to Ennis from the lobby. Please.”

Dean smiled finally. “I'll call Bobby. Or better yet, you should call Bobby. He worries about you. And Ellen. She asked me last time I saw her if you were allergic to giving her peace of mind.”

Sam was quiet. 

His brother heaved a sigh. “Okay. Okay, that can wait another week. But, Sam, you got folks-good folks-who love you. That's their choice, not yours. So give them a call soon as you think you can.”

“By the end of next week. I promise.”

“Thank you. I'm going to get a room.”

Sam was surprised. “You can stay here.”

Dean shrugged. “You've spent a long time without me hovering. I'll be right down the hall. But I know you need your space. Even if you aren't sleeping here, it's still your space.”

Gratitude washed over him. “Thank you,” he forced out. “I've missed you so much, man.”

“Me too, Sammy. I'll see you in the morning.”

By the time Castiel had returned, and they had made their way to the cabin, Sam was nearly asleep. Castiel turned to him as he took his keys from the ignition. “Hello, Sam,” he breathed. 

“Hello, Castiel” was the sleepy reply. 

They climbed out of the car, and made their way to the cabin door. Castiel took a moment to look around him. “This is everything to me.”

Sam nodded, and took his hand. He couldn't help being shy even after everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. 

But Castiel smiled at him. “This place is everything to me. It's my Eden. My sanctuary. And you look really, really good in it.” He reached up to stroke Sam’s hair from his eyes. “I'm falling for you. I've thought for months that I've got to know your story. For weeks, I've wanted to sleep with you. But it's still blindsiding me how fast I'm falling for you.”

“You're going to have to quit at the motel, aren't you?”

He shrugged sadly. “Lucas knows to find me there. I put in my notice while you were talking with your brother.”

“What will you do?”

Castiel smiled out at his land. “Luke always told me I could be making real money working for him. But I've got several works out there that he doesn't know about, and I make decent royalties off them. I worked at the motel because I love meeting interesting people. But my books sustain me. My father and I worked on the first one together, then I built a series. They're out there under his pen name, Carver Edlund.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Carver...You're the guy who wrote the Supernatural series?”

The man scowled. “And the Bloodlines series. Why doesn't anyone remember Bloodlines?”

“I've read all of those! And decent royalties? You must make-”

Castiel laughed. “Now you know why I don't tell Lucas.”

Sam frowned then. “He knows to find you here too. How does it help to quit the motel if you're still here?”

“I will never be able to guarantee that he doesn't send someone after me. No matter where I am. But this is the place where I will be able to defend myself best. If Luke himself can't set foot in here without me knowing, no one else would ever be able to. It's like this house is part of me. Or I'm part of it. And at least if I'm attacked here, no one else will be hurt because of it. Except you. Sam-”

“Cas, don't. Please don't. I'm part of this already. And I'm not leaving unless you make me go. If something comes for you, I want it to have to go through me.”

Amazement was written all over Castiel's face as he stared up at Sam. “My story's playing out all wrong, Sam. I'm supposed to be the victim of literary justice, where I've redeemed myself by helping catch the bad guy, but I still have to pay for my sins. I'm not supposed to be rewarded with the loyalty or love of a handsome, tragic character. I'm not supposed to get any of this.”

Sam snorted softly. “Am I a tragic character, Cas?”

“A hero who was punished for a mistake made while protecting an innocent? An ascetic who denies himself all kindred ties? A man whose morality is set at a higher standard than even our justice system, who continues his own sentence long past the time society has deemed him sufficiently chastised? Yes, Sam. You're the classic tragic hero. Practically Edmond Dantès.”

“Not everything is a literary device, Cas.”

“Troupe.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I know. But it's how I've always thought of everything. I guess when you're born with a strong moral compass and yet you're trained your entire life to be a villain, you start to look for evidence that a villain can be redeemed. My father wasn't around, even when he was. Luke and Gabe raised me. But I always wondered if he had figured out the ending of my story, and that's why he didn't bother. I adored him, but the only time I ever had his full attention was those few months when we pounded out the first book of Supernatural. And I thought maybe...maybe he had just given up on me. He knew better than anyone what happened to villains.”

“Maybe he knew you would find your own way.”

Castiel sighed. “Sam, can I hold you again? I liked that...very much.”

Sam led the way into the cabin. No matter what happened next in their story, Sam was ready. He would sleep in Castiel's arms tonight, and every other night if he had his way. He had chosen. Just like he had chosen to end a life years ago, he had chosen to begin a new one himself. Checking in with Ennis would remind him of what he had done. Keeping up with Dean would remind him of the people who still loved him anyway. And moving forward with Castiel would be the beginning of something new. They knew so much about one another, and there were so many things still to explore. There was still time for more character development. Sam’s story wasn't over yet, and he liked the way it was heading.


End file.
